


Writ in Ink Invisible

by Ramzes



Series: Dragon Ladies: AU and Canon [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: The maiden queen, the unwanted queen, the meek queen. All these were words said and written about Aelinor Penrose, Aerys I's unfortunate queen. But words are wind, as everyone knows. And writings do lie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Riana1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riana1/gifts), [Baelorfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baelorfan/gifts), [a_lady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_lady/gifts).



> At the end of this year, I skimmed through some of my old fics and I felt driven to make a little forray into my dragon ladies once again, this time with the info we have from The World of Ice and Fire. I want to thank everyone who expressed interest and liking to my now AU Aelinor - I'm sorry if I failed to mention someone by name in the gift part - and I hope you enjoy this new look on her!

Quills and parchments, this was her life. This had always been her life. She was descended from a family that valued them more than almost anything else. Words were wind but this was only true for spoken words. Written words remained, as solid and lasting as the truth they reflected.

Or the lie.

So many lies.

All to her harm.

Twisting her into something that even she had a difficulty to recognize.

* * *

She was not Rhaena Targaryen come again, no matter what people would write later. Those who did only knew her in her time as queen when in her despair, she had turned to the Seven beseeching them to make her heart's desire come truth. But once upon a time, she had been a lively, vibrant child who had found joy in things earthly and dirty, to the despair of her septa and mother.

Well, perhaps she was like Rhaena Targaryen but people got the wrong Rhaena. The Rhaena the family always told Aelinor she resembled had been a kind, long dragonless woman but with inner strength that would put many to shame. Aelinor only had some flashes of memories of her grandmother in which only Rhaena's death was a fully formed one. The smile that she had left the world with. "Go to them," Aelinor's grandfather had said softly but even at the tender age of five, the little girl knew that Rhaena had left them long ago, living in her past as the weakness left after the summer fever claimed her mind as fully as her body. She did not recognize anybody and her whispers brought into the darkened room names that Aelinor would learn only later, forced on people who bore other names.

"You should really go out more, Aegon," she told Aerys who was staring at her, wide-eyed. "Look, does Viserys sit around all day waiting for his egg to hatch? It will, you know, never fear," she added, looking at Maekar who looked up at his mother, utterly confused. "You are a Targaryen, like all of us. Is he not, Luke?" she went on. "Looks don't matter. What matters is blood and heart… and you are a Targaryen, truly."

Baelor nodded, pressing his lips together. Years later, Aelinor would remember this scene and wonder if by this time, he had already known that he was doubted and disliked, his belonging to them questioned because of his looks. She never asked, of course. It would be terribly tactless and over the years, tact had turned into her shield.

* * *

People said she had met her fate of a hostage at King Aegon's court with unusual maturity, grace, and courage but the truth was, she was too stunned and paralyzed with fear to do or say something. She was old enough to know that her parents had somehow attracted the King's disfavour but complex concepts like hostility between father and son, and the realm dividing into ever shifting factions in which her father was one of Prince Daeron's staunchest allies escaped her and without understanding, no maturity would come. She only knew that the King demanded his young hostages, called wards for better sounding, to attend the evening feast; much later, she would understand the double warning in this but at the age of six, she could only stare at the raucously laughing faces, the brazen, nearly naked women, the drunk man who knelt on all four to lap the spilled wine off the floor, unable to give up even a drop of it, and fighting with the dogs there… She had never felt so scared. The mocking or pitying smiles landing on her made her even more scared and she dared not touch the plates in front of her, suddenly sure that should she taste them, she would be confined to the Red Keep forever and never see the Parchments again. Did the old tales not tell about such occasions? She was sure that she had read it somewhere.

Surprisingly attuned to her mood, Maekar, a year younger than her but a year more experienced in living here, pushed his own plate at her. "It's good," he said and since Aelinor knew that he had been allowed to visit his home once, she accepted that the food was harmless and ate it, although she was still scared and he had already taken more than a few bites from the plate.

* * *

What people said about her marriage would be enough to fill a book. A thick one. Fill it with lies. Pain. Humiliation.

She was a maid and remained a maid, they said. How ridiculous! As if any prince would leave thing this way, unless he was physically incapable or she was notoriously ugly. Neither of them was. Aerys just waited until she grew old enough for bedding – Aelinor would not have appreciated it if he had bedded her fourteen-year-old self!

Not that she appreciated his lack of interest to her sixteen-year-old self beyond the couplings expected of husband and wife. But claiming that she was a maid was a downright insult to her femininity and when they added the rumour that the still untouched queen prayed for a child daily, this was an insult to her intellect as well.

She was pretty. Perhaps she was not as beautiful as some of the ladies at court but she was pretty enough. More than enough for many men. But not her husband. In the beginning of their true marriage, about two years after they said the words, Aerys came to her chambers regularly, although by no means frequently, and while Aelinor could not say she was mad about the experience, it was not unpleasant either. The awareness that her children would arrive out of it made it even less unpleasant.

But the children did not appear. Never. Instead, Dyanna Dayne did. And her arrival showed Aelinor in cruelly bright light what was missing in her own marriage. Maekar was mad about Dyanna, this much was clear. And although she was just a year older than Aelinor had been at the time of her wedding, her married life had started the night after Maekar had wrapped the Targaryen cloak around her shoulders; just a few weeks later, she was already with child while Aelinor was just starting to realize that Aerys' interest in her might never increase… and she was still not increasing.

She had never resented anyone as she resented Dyanna and Maekar in these days of their early happiness when thick walls were pressing against her from all sides.

Perhaps "hatred" was too strong a word but envy was definitely there. She wanted to be happy like Dyanna or if this was too much, at least like Jena. Or even Alys.

Jena.

Over time, her envy of Jena made her realize how pitiful her life had become. She'd rather have Jena's string of miscarriages and only one living babe – but be loved and treated the way Jena was. Instead, as she turned twenty and her four years of marriage had yet to see a delay in the arrival of her moon blood, Aerys slowly withdrew from her bed, leaving her alone and longing for what she had never had and what she had barely touched, sometimes so tantalizingly close that she could, to her despair, feel it slip between her fingers. Motherhood. Femininity.

Was this the time the book of her life started being written with not just false words but invisible ink?

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Aurora_Martell, a_lady, Golden_Daughter, and Baelorfan for commenting. Aelinor and I both appreciate it.

Quills and parchments, that was what great romances were made of, as much as rumours and songs. Made purer than what heart produced, as well, for it produced love. Love were sad and grand, and tearing noble hearts in two, and leading to the ruin of nations because of the heartache of the ones leading them – according to parchments. Aelinor knew it to be a lie. Love was not like this at all. Love was cruel and predatory, love was selfish, grief-inducing but also soaring on the wings of ecstasy. Love took out a person's worst traits, as well as their best. And love left them so very vulnerable. Quills and parchments did not reflect this. Sometimes, they outright lied, as Daenerys Martell could testify.

Sometimes, they erased a love by never seeing it. Which was for the best. Like in Aelinor's case.

Was it not what archivists and bards loved? A princess in black and red and a white knight?

* * *

He entered her life when he entered the Red Keep. Unlike any other Kingsguard, he had a recognized child – or rather, he had had. He had left the Vale because he had been unable to pass by the two tombs, one for his wife and one for his young son, every day. He came to King's Landing to find oblivion. He found Aelinor instead – at the time, the rumours that Aerys had never even consummated the marriage were already abundant and when he first bedded her, about a year afer they first met, he looked surprised, as if he expected that at nineteen, she was still a maid. Aelinor turned her head away, the bliss of his embrace darkened by the stark realization just how humiliating her situation was.

She set about analyzing her attraction to him calmly and unbiasedly, as she tried to do with all things. He was a great warrior but he was not the only one. He was handsome but there were others who were more handsome still. He was smart and book-inclined but not nearly as much as Aerys.

But he knew that life was to be lived in full and not confined to reading about other people's lives and futures. He was one who had had it all before and knew what he was giving up by donning the white cloak.

He was the only man of Aelinor's acquaintance who considered the white cloak vastly inferior to other things, had sought it only after he had lost the things that had given his life his meaning and colour.

_Lady Courage_ , he called her, caressing her hair as tenderly as he did Lady Forlorn and even more, and this kept surprising her. She saw her life as enduring. Enduring was what one did. But she did not mind that he considered her strong.

Perhaps Aerys had strength in his own way as well. He had stopped visiting her bed when conception did not happen but he kept caring for her, discussing books and scrolls with her as often as before and discreetly looking at the other side when she sought to fill the void in her life elsewhere. He might not have done it and no one would have as much as thought badly about him.

She did not think he would suffer a child born to her by someone else, though. If he even entertained the idea that the fault might lie with him. This was one of the things they never discussed. But once or twice, she forgot to drink her moon tea after lying with Gwayne but nothing happened. Perhaps she was not particularly fecund. This was another question that parchments could not answer.

Would not answer.

So many omissions.

* * *

She started begging the Mother to bless her with child once she was crowned Queen. She did not have much hope, for her best years had passed but she had some. Aerys had started visiting her bed again and her fears had turned baseless: Gwayne's ghost did not appear to haunt her marital bed, although she longed for him with ever increasing despair after each passionless bedding. But not during. Sometimes, she dreamed of him as he was in their last night together, in the storm of Daemon's rebellion. Never the gaunt, unable to walk shadow that had been returned from Redgrass Field only to die from his wounds.

She had never desired another man. Yes, sometimes she felt a pang of lust towards young knights but it was not desire. Just a spur of the moment thing. She had never bedded another after his death, so she had little to compare her nights with Aerys to. She just prayed for a child. And people thought her as stupid as not to know what was needed to obtain this child. The Mother was useless, as shocked as it would leave her septa to hear her say, if Aerys did not do his job. He did. But this child would still not come.

Her prayers became even more feverish as the lords petitioned Aerys to repudiate her, find someone whom he could feel desire for. If he did, she would likely kill herself, rather than live with the humiliation.

"You're a fool," Maekar said curtly. "And your fears are unfounded. You know how Aerys is and you know he's a just man. The fault isn't yours and you're wasting your time thinking that he'd ever shift it onto you."

"Oh, so he's a just man now?" she fired back. "Is this why you're storming off to sulk? Because you believe he's so just?"

He glared at her before storming off to sulk for a good number of years. But at least he turned out to be right.

* * *

He turned out to be right about something else as well: he had predicted that the one wielding all the power would not be Aerys but Brynden Rivers. Lord Bloodraven. And while Aelinor gladly acknowledged his great talents, she vehemently disagreed with the realm being basically left to fend for itself as he focused on Bittersteel and his possible intentions. But her disagreement meant nothing to him, as long as it did not come from Aerys. And Aerys could not be bothered with such things as he read on and on about his prophecies. Aelinor fumed at finding herself inhabiting the role of a mere decoration through ceremonies but that was what she was. Everyone flocked to Brynden and Shiera Seastar and the wiser ones curried favour with Alys as well. Alys who enjoyed her status of queen in waiting a little too openly for Aelinor's taste.

She did not feel sorry for Alys when Rhaegel died – she was hard enough to be able to hate without compulsion and anyway, it was her husband's status that Alys loved, far more than the man himself. But she grieved for Aelor and Aelora, as bitter as she had been when they had been openly declared heirs because this was equal to declaring her uselessness openly while Aerys had tried to convince her that this was a mark of his great esteem for her – after all, he might have just left the matter open, letting everyone believe that in the event of her death, he could remarry to a young woman who might give him an heir.

"Perhaps I'm too simply made to grasp this peak of thought," she spat and stormed off. Aerys, left behind, undoubtedly thought she was behaving like a petulant child, much like he had thought of Maekar years ago.

Maekar…

Now, there was one who did not like being proclaimed heir any more than she liked it. "I know I'm not perfect," he spat just in the night before the ceremony, "but did he really need to punish me like this?"

At this time, she had become so used to her uselessness being rubbed in her face like this that she did not even care anymore. She did not tell him that Aerys did not see this as a punishment. He already knew it.

At the time, this was mere formality; at Aerys' unexpected death just a few years later, it became her chance to make something of herself. Something that would make her more than a mere footnote in parchments written by others.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who showed their interest in this exploration of a barely mentioned character, you've been a great support!

Aelinor walked the length of the Red Keep, trying not to look at the black hangings hiding everything, blocking the very sun. They were a mark of hypocrisy, of course, since no one mourned Aerys this much, or marks of etiquette which had started being the same to Aelinor. Everyone that came her way bowed low and looked away, as if she was already as dead as her husband – everyone but the few maesters that she came across. Their gaunt faces and slumped shoulders told her that they were truly mourning Aerys' passing – or at least the privileged position they had enjoyed under him!

Her father would have been terrified if he could hear her thoughts. The Penroses were supposed to revere learning and its priests. But her father had had other things in his life as well, not a spouse consumed by said learning.

He had never been a footnote – and he had never meant for her to be a footnote either.

During the first half of her long walk that left the elder one of the two ladies trailing her gasping for breath, Aelinor thought with irritation that Maekar should not have been such a stickler for propriety and just taken over the King's chambers already. This way, her trip would have been much shorter.

During the second half, she fought the urge to spin around and head back, the reality of the last twelve years when she had been limited in each and every way where influence was concerned surging to her mind and telling her that it was too late, too late, she had no experience and she would fail if she started learning now… She might have been cherished by Aerys but she had not enjoyed his trust over Bloodraven. Not in the matters of politics.

When she asked for an audience with the new King, her voice shook in her own ears, but to the guards and servants, it sounded composed enough, it seemed, for no one gave her an odd look. She settled in a chair and prepared to wait. She and Maekar had not parted at the best of terms the last time they had truly spoken, with Saryl Lothston's dead body between them and the maesters looking around for a place to hide, the light glinting off the sharp knives in their hands. Aelinor did not consider the brief formal words they had exchanged in the presence of hundreds of others in the wake of Aerys' death a true conversation. Maekar would not be Maekar if he failed to make use of this chance to get a petty revenge over… what? It was too early for him to have gotten reconciled with the fact that Aelinor had never been unjust to the dead woman, that nature had failed Saryl long before she had found her way to the maester's tables, a dead lesson. Nature. Not Aelinor. Maekar was good at seeing what he wanted to see, though.

To her surprise, she got ushered in in mere minutes, in a chamber where the sun was already going down but the candles had yet to be lit. She made a curtsey, surprised at how easy it had come to her when she had expected that she would rail inwardly at the injustice of it. She should have had a son to ascend instead of Maekar who did not even _want_ the throne.

"Sit down," Maekar said curtly.

She did.

"You wanted to see me, I was told."

She glanced at him. Since Aerys' death, he seemed to have aged with years… but it had started with her death, of course. The woman who had not been a true woman, as it had turned out. Saryl Lothston.

"We didn't do it because this was our wish," Aelinor heard herself say. "This was her wish, to be given over to the maesters. Aerys wanted to see what she had expected them to find… but we had no idea we would see this."

"Or _not_ see, as it turned out," the new King said but there was none of the anger that had just poured off him when he had strode in and asked what in the seven hells they had been doing, as the ugly wound – bloodless, of course – still gaped in the body of his longtime companion, revealing the empty place where an womb should have been. Aelinor remembered how she had recoiled. "I know," Maekar said, to her surprise. "She sometimes spoke of wondering how many girls had been born like her. Like her, they would have been too ashamed to speak out. Just suffer. She was just the one who would have wanted to help them in her death by giving herself to the maesters to examine. I'm sorry I was like this. I never learn, it seems."

Oh but he did. It had been even worse at Dyanna's death. Half of the legends about his harshness and cruelty had arisen just then. Of course, at the time he had been twenty years younger and newer to grief.

She did not know what to say but the air between them felt clearer now. Aelinor looked at him squarely. "So, what do you intend to do now?" she asked. "I suppose Alys has already approached you with the offer of wedding Daeron to Daenora?"

He gave a sudden, harsh laughter. "You've been so reconciled in the last years that I forgot what a tigress you are!"

"Aerys didn't think so," Aelinor said, not caring to hide her bitterness. After all, he was likely the one person in the Seven Kingdoms who was more embittered than her. She had never been given the chance to prove her merits; he had done so over and over, only to be overlooked and overshadowed not due to his deeds but his temper and was it not the same as not having done it at all? Aelinor had little doubts as to what archives would say about him one day. Everything, every little thing he did would be further diminished – it had already been long before Ashford; she had as little doubt that he would do well in his new occupation because he did everything well as she did that the stain of Baelor's death would leak and soak in into very accomplishment of his, painting it black. He would be the first one to tell her that this was what he deserved. But Aelinor was certain that she had not deserved any of the things that had happened to her. The grief she felt for Aerys surprised her because all those things had come to her from his hands.

"I never understood most of the things Aerys did," Maekar replied. If she had heard it from any other man, Aelinor would think they were trying to flatter her; with him, it was just a statement of fact.

"So?" she asked.

"So what? Ah, you mean Alys. The two of you could never get along. But yes, you're right, she approached me. And I said no."

Aelinor started breathing a little easier. She did not think she could live through this if Alys received any precedence over her, as childish as it was.

"I suppose you're going to wed Daeron to Tyrosh instead?" she asked and he gave her a long look.

"I'm glad to see that the years you spent in isolation did not damage your wits," he said. "Yes, my lady, that's what I'm doing."

Aelinor's relief grew. The girl could not be a proper principal lady in this court, she had been unable to even when Valarr had been alive. She still had much to learn about Westeros.

"So, did you decide who's going to fill in for me?" she asked. Despite the casual words, her tone was very serious. "Or rather, should I say for me and Shiera Seastar fused in one? A king needs a queen and we both know Kiera is quite unsuited. Has the parade started?"

Maekar laughed again, this time with some true merriment. "Indeed! They've been parading girls as young as sixteen. Woman-children. I think they expect of me to go down the road of the aging man infatuated with a beautiful girl. Not going to happen but they don't know it yet. I have no idea what I'm going to do but a child queen is not in the plans."

A young royal mistress was likely not in the plans either! The only time Aelinor could remember him taking interest in girls was when he had been a boy. And even then, it had not been girls. Just a girl. Singular. As to beauty, Saryl Lothston had not been the most beautiful woman in Westeros but he had kept faith with her for over fifteen years, to the best of Aelinor's knowledge.

"Perhaps I could be in the plans, then?" she asked and he paused, merriment fading from his face. "It's going to wrap up the matter of the principal lady nicely. And you'll be rid of the fathers of potential future queens as well."

She did not need to say that this way, he would give his daughters the freedom to live their own lives, build their families with their new husbands in peace. The girls were young and in love. They did not care to play hostesses of the entire court. And if he gave Aegon's Betha this position unofficially, it would get ugly between the girl and Kiera of Tyrosh later. Aelinor had seen this happen once when she was young – and of course, she had been a silent watcher.

_Not this time. I won't be pushed aside again. I'll be more than an afterthought, a footnote._

Maekar looked at her. "You'll enjoy seeing their faces when they hear that you're the new queen and aren't going anywhere, won't you?"

"But you won't enjoy rubbing their noses in your newfound power despite the things you know they said about you?"

He shrugged. "No," he said and she had no reason to not believe him. Bitterness was something that they had in common but they dealt with it in very different ways. For a long time, she did not say anything.

"I'll do it," he suddenly said. "I'll wed you in the Great Sept. I'll give you the chance to leave the mark you so desire – and I'm going to relish Brynden's face when he finds out," he added and Aelinor laughed, not without malice. In all her dealings with the Hand of the King, she had always come up the loser.

Going back all this long way was even harder than coming here because she wanted to laugh in everyone's face as they speculated behind their palms just when she'd head back for the Parchment to die as obscurely as she had lived.

She did not know what future held for her. But she had the quill of her life in her hand, for a while, at least. And she would write it bold and big – as bold and big as she knew how.

She was still Aelinor Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who aided my inspiration by leaving a comment!

 The day of her wedding to Aerys had been written in the scrolls as a bright and full of good omens. And it had been so. Aelinor still remembered the pride and happiness filling her to the point she thought she would just explode with joy.

 Perhaps it was a good thing that at the time, she had no idea of how her marriage and life would go on. At least she had this day to return to in her memories.

 Still, she would never take a quill to describe it herself, for she knew the bitterness of a future lived would just pour out of her and onto the parchment, staining it with truth.

 Truth. So overrated.

 The day of her wedding to Maekar was nothing like. It was a day of bitter triumph and not quite unfurling hope – life had taught her better than let it unfurl – that she’d be able to change the course her life and the memory of her would go. She kept her smile polite and not vicious as she stared at the invited guests, many of whom looked disappointed that their daughter had not been chosen queen. Many more yet were hopeful that they would sway the King their way – the way of offices, favours, and all kinds of influence – through pushing their young daughters in his very bed since the girls were not highborn enough to be queen. Aelinor marveled at their delusions. What about Maekar made them think that he was interested in youth, innocence and loveliness now when they had spent years gossiping and speculating why he would not sway from the side of a woman his own age, and not even this great of a beauty? Aelinor knew he’d find a woman soon enough – but it would not be one of these girls.

 Still, as the feast drew more boisterous and inhibitions fell down like discarded clothes, she felt anxious. In her desire to settle the most important parts of her agreement with Maekar, she had neglected to raise the questions regarding the bed. Why, she had never even given it a consideration! But somewhat to her surprise, she found out that it mattered. How strange! It wasn’t as if she even wanted it or would feel disappointed if he never came to her bed, save for this one time. She was no longer a young girl who cared about those things. And she was sure that if he chose to have a normal marriage with her, he would not be rough or uncaring. After giving it some serious consideration, between toasts and smiles, she realized that what scared her was the uncertainty. If she knew what he intended, she would be entirely composed. But she did not. And she could not ask now.

 She looked at Brynden Rivers, at his impassive face and one eye, black in the candlelight, and wondered what he thought about this celebration. Had he hoped to have his niece serve as the principal lady at court until Maekar chose a queen or until Kiera of Tyrosh arrived? As far as Aelinor could say, the girl had no such aspirations but since when has people’s aspirations mattered to Lord Bloodraven? Aelinor had never aspired to be a shadow queen either but this was what he had turned her into, with her own King’s silent blessing.

 The clasp of his cloak glinted off a hand at her. Aelinor smiled again – not too politely. _Enjoy your last day in this office_ , she thought. _Tomorrow, after the coronation, another Hand will be chosen and your hold over this realm will be broken_. In fact, it already was and everyone knew it. It had been broken the moment Aerys had breathed his last…

 To her relief, she was allowed to leave with her ladies. The bedding had terrified her when she had been fourteen and she was just as loathe to experience it now. As the noise from the great hall faded behind her, she felt how her raw nerves settled down.

 He came to her shortly after. The women retired discreetly and he looked around and poured her a goblet. “Drink,” he said and she was so taken aback that she did. Cold, blessed water trickled down her throat, cleared her mind and made her realize just how much wine she had taken. How truly scared she had been. When she had wanted it so much.

 True queenship. Not the bed. And still as she watched him, she was mortified to find out that the idea of this part of marriage was not repellent to her. The fear of the unknown retreated, leaving only the fear of being rejected again after this first night… on a pure physical level. Aelinor had no illusions about the effects aging had had on her and while Saryl Lothston had been just a little younger than her, she had been young when Maekar had first takeh her to his bed… and just like this, the ghosts came anew and Aelinor remembered the night Maekar had first seen Dyanna without her wedding gown. The mood had been very different, joyful and festive and Aelinor was surprised at how precisely her memory summoned back the mix of elation and fear in the Dornish girl’s eyes.

 “Don’t be afraid,” Maekar suddenly said and Aelinor was surprised that he had detected her fear at all when she had her face turned away. He took her hand… and the fear disappeared. Just like this. He would not let her bed get cold, as shameful as it was for a woman her age to worry about such things. And she did not care if she turned out not to be the only one, although… why should she be one of many? He had never been blatantly unfaithful, not to Dyanna and not to Saryl, even during their long ailments.

 “Who are you going to appoint as Hand of the King?” she asked when they both woke up before dawn. Her mind was clear and her body ached with pleasant fatigue. The thought of the upcoming coronation made her want to bury her head under the pillow and go back to sleep. The moment of her triumph also meant a gown so heavy with gems that it weighed on her like an armour, a ceremonial crown that would not let her turn her head to one side or, the Seven forbid, look down…

 The slight tugging at the back of her head as she turned her head towards him slightly told her that her hair was pressed under his bare back. He had not noticed in this darkest of all darks and she did not bother telling him. She waited for his answer.

 “I’ll leave Bloodraven,” Maekar said and Aelinor almost sat up which made him realize that he was pressing her hair and release it. Aelinor felt a twinge of strange feeling that she did not waste time dwelling on.

 “Bloodraven!” she exclaimed, her dreams of a life free of him and Shiera Seastar dissolving into nothingness. She had relished the thought of his falling out of grace, imagined the moment she would see him leave the Red Keep with his Raven Teeth… Hand of the King once again?

 “He’s a man of great gifts,” Maekar said and Aelinor did not bother agreeing. She knew of Bloodraven’s many talents, this was not the matter! She sniffed at the rumours of the ignorant who thought they could have done a better job at ruling catering to each small conflict over a trespassing. But he was the reason she had never truly tasted what being queen felt like… She told this to Maekar who stirred in the darkness. Aelinor could almost feel his look of amazement.

 “It was Aerys who let him do whatever he liked, Aelinor,” he said. “And it will be different now. He will not take over any of my functions, let alone yours.”

 “Yes, of course,” she agreed flatly, for she had thought that he, of all people, would understand, but when she thought he’d reach for a candle to light a serious conversation, he just reached out for her hand under the covers. His skin was as warm as icy pale it looked like on the surface, always had been.

 “If it troubles you so much, I’ll have someone else,” he said simply. “I have not promised him anything yet. I haven’t even spoken to him on the matter. And there are many men who can serve with honour and ability.”

 Aelinor’s breath caught. This was it. The first taste of queenly power. The feeling that something depended on her. All of a sudden, the thought of having Bloodraven keep his office and Shiera keep strutting around court did not stir any hatred or discomfort in her.

 The parchments would not even mention her part in this, of course. Another tiny bit of invisibility. But she would know the truth. And it gave her a thrill that she had never experienced, at the same time as she realized what the feeling seizing her for the brief moment when Maekar had rolled away from over her hair: disappointment.

 “For how long have you lived without bedding a woman?” she suddenly asked and felt the jerk of his hand. He had been unprepared for the question but replied readily enough, “Two years.”

 Since Saryl Lothston had been reclaimed after her stay at Bittersteel’s hands. For two years she had been slowly dying. She caught the careful indifference in his words, so unlike the raw grief after Dyanna’s death.

 There would be no royal mistress anytime soon. Aelinor could only hope he’d be able to keep the ghosts away from their chamber – but she suspected that it would be too much to ask.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, it's very inspiring to have such great interest in such minor characters.

The day she received her first envoy was just another day – for everyone else. Sun and cloud, and a little wind… Chatter of the highborn ladies in her entourage and the scrambling of servants rushed here and there… People moving in the streets below, as tiny as ants from the palace gardens… King’s Landing kept beating like a huge, bloated heart, sometimes irregular, sometimes weeping blood, but never sleeping, always busy.

Aelinor wished to write this day down in all parchments that she had access to. Sound reason stopped her because it would be unwise to give her aims, strivings, and vulnerabilities away. It was better to let invisibility cover them and that was what she did but she felt like she would explode with joy. The first royal responsibility in her life that did not have purely representative functions. Her joy was more fitting a young squire being raised to knighthood and she recognized it but she could not squash it.

“Why should you squash it?” Maekar wondered that night. “It’s something that you got after a lifetime of waiting, Aelinor. Why should you smother it?”

She glanced at him over the edge of her goblet. For a man who was almost unable to experience joy, he seemed very attuned to it in others. But then, what joy could she expect of him? He had not gotten the crown after a lifetime of waiting. He had not wanted it, unlike her. To him, it was a punishment.

“You did a fine job,” he went on. “Better than I would have, in any case. He’s going to write home about the expanding of trade that you expressed our wish for. And you saved me time that I used for other tasks. In fact, I’m thinking of handing a bigger part of our dealings with Essos to you…”

She blinked, her heart speeding up. “Really?” she managed.

He shrugged. “I see no use to waste the time of the Small Council with the details and slow the overall work when you can take this and only present the summarized stages. You were born a negotiator, Aelinor, and you have a quick mind and swiftness of reactions when facing the unexpected. I see no reason why we shouldn’t use you.”

The way he described it, it sounded almost as an additional members of the Small Council. Aelinor was both scared and elated. She felt like smacking him on the cheek but instincts told her that he would not take it well. For all their accord and the fact that he gave no indications of stopping his nightly visits or seeking someone else, she knew that he grieved and missed Saryl still. She could say it from the way he would lie and stare blankly in the darkness when he thought she was asleep. The way he would sometimes startle when she was a little late to dismiss her ladies, giving him the time to get lost in his thoughts and when she entered her bedchamber, he would look at her in surprise, as if he had expected someone else. The bitterness that sometimes crept in his voice when he spoke of the many ways her grace, wits, and charm could bring Westeros, both in the reception halls and the work tables. His longtime mistress had been cut from any responsibilities, any official capacity to _do_ anything – and she had most certainly been cut from his public life. But what had he been expecting when he had first bedded a woman so lower in rank from him? To see the world change to suit both of them? The world did not change, Aelinor knew this from bitter experience. Life changed. Sometimes. Hers had.

Time went by. The chroniclers noted down Kiera of Tyrosh’s arrival and the day Daeron wrapped the Targaryen cloak around her shoulders. No one wrote about the way he forced himself not to look at Aurelia Dayne, his cousin, the heiress of Starfall. The Hand of the King had yet to praise her abilities in the field of diplomacy but she caught him give her a considering look sometimes and a rueful smile and she felt how some deep seated resentment in her found its vindication and slowly petered out. He could have had such use of her during Aerys’ reign if he had stopped to think that she might be good for something.

Every month, every week even made her more visible. To the Small Council. To the Essosi envoys. To the heads of the charity institutions that she financed. To the lords whose grievances she settled when Maekar had no time for this and sometimes, even when he had. To Maekar’s children and the little ones – actually, Daella’s boy was almost born in the Queen’s chambers because the girl had an unusually short labour for a first-time mother. And to Maekar himself who had started to increasingly abandon his own bedchamber for hers, to the point where she would not wonder what had happened when he did not come, instead of wondering when another woman would catch his eye. She knew that the court was whispering about this and she shook her head. As usual, they had drawn the wrong conclusion from the correct facts. Maekar had not fallen in love with his unexpected queen. She doubted he even had the capacity for it anymore. But his attitude to her was so different from Aerys’ that for the people outside, it was easy to mistake the peaceful harbour for love.

Or not so peaceful. Aelinor quickly learned that while she did not need to guard her tongue around him, there were certain topics that should never be raised. Like the way Saryl Lothston had differed from other women…

It started innocently enough. She was doubled with pains in her bed and when he entered, she saw the sheer panic on his face. She hurried to assure him that she was not ill, that it was just her moon blood and if it became worse, she would summon her ladies. She suggested that he leave and she could see that he wanted to – and who could blame him? Instead, he gave her the potion the maesters had prepared for her and even helped her change when the onrush of blood – oh how she hated these changes that had started a few months ago! – stained her nightgown. “I’m sorry,” he said by the way of excuse. “It’s been so long that I forgot women suffered such things.”

“Did Lady Saryl not suffer?” Aelinor asked before thinking and regretted it immediately when she saw how his face changed.

“No,” Maekar replied calmly enough. “Her suffering was of another nature.”

Of course she would not have suffered. Aelinor had been so shocked by what they had discovered that she had not given the body a closer look but no womb meant no moon blood, surely?

What else did it mean? Maekar did not look angry, so Aelinor asked the question that just popped in her head. “Was there something… unusual in your relationship?”

He turned his face away, towards the shadows. “I suppose you mean the bed?” He did not wait for answer. “I suppose you also want to know what the maesters did to help her in this regard? I’ll give you a simple answer, Aelinor: no, there wasn’t anything unusual in our relationship and that’s all you need to know.”

Unfortunately, she now knew more that she had actually wished for. Her mind started counting off the possibilities, each of them more sinister than the other one, and silence drew so long that he finally turned and looked at her and she saw the moment his ire flashed. She almost recoiled because he looked capable of hitting her. “You look like you’re going to throw up,” he said. “What do you think she felt like?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care!” Aelinor’s voice was heavy with horror and revulsion as she envisioned the hooks and knives flashing over a pale body that the Seven had not made the way a woman’s body should look like.

“I can see this,” Maekar said, rose from his chair, and left without looking back.

This night was something that Aelinor wished she could rewrite. She would not mind the invisible ink right now but there was none. Not for this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all commenters who follow Aelinor's trials.

The ink of her history started becoming more visible just when she no longer cared. No longer enjoyed testing her mind against the brightest, most versatile minds Essos had to offer them, and to a good purpose. No longer cherished the enthusiastic cheering when she showed in the streets, visible and known for her active participations in all the charities expected of a Queen and then some. No longer even liked proving Brynden Rivers what a greave omission his dismissal of her years ago had been. All these mattered not when she returned to chambers only filled with her ladies’ chatter and a bed that had started feeling colder than ever, save for the days and weeks when Aerys had first abandoned her and the pain after Gwayne’s death. Somehow, she had become used to Maekar’s sometimes unassuming and other times quite stormy presence. She had diffidently taken it for granted – and now, she had ruined the fragile accord that they had started building, and not even for Dyanna but Saryl, a woman who a queen should hardly give a thought to.

Perhaps she was less of a queen than she had thought. Perhaps she was turning into more of a woman, albeit an aging one, and wanted what all women did. A man to call her own, a companion in her joys and sorrows. Of course, ladies of great Houses were not likely to find one in their spouse but that did not prevent the heart from wishing for it.

But she did not know what to do and fear paralyzed her from doing anything at all. All her attempts to get Aerys back to her had failed at the time she had been in her bloom. Why should she succeed now when no one would expect of Maekar to share her bed? He had his heirs; Aelinor had the first white hairs in her dark curls.

So she did the only thing she knew how to: she marched on, fulfilling her duties and filling her life with them.

Days went by. The second week since their short, bitter quarrel had just begun when one morning, Aelinor woke up with the feeling that there was something that she was missing. Only after she headed for her audience chamber, she remembered: today, it was the twelfth anniversary of Baelor’s death, and the shock jolted her. At the time, it had felt that the entire world had turned and now… now she had just _forgotten_?

When the bells started tolling, people looked up and started asking each other what had happened. Aelinor was not the only one who had forgotten. Life had gone on.

All the day, Maekar was nowhere to be seen, so she was surprised when he appeared in her chambers all of a sudden late at night, when even most of the Red Keep slept. Her ladies had been long dismissed and she was reading at the lamplight, tired but not quite finished yet.

“What are you reading?” he asked from the door and she looked up, her heart skipping a beat. Had she been so engrossed that she had not heard his coming? Or had he been this quiet? He was as pale as a ghost, his face wearing the lines and sorrows of a very long day. Life had gone on for everyone but him. He was still stuck in the past of regrets and shame that to him was, perhaps, more real than anything else, for this day, at least. For this night.

“I was getting ready for tomorrow,” she said. “We have two lords from the riverlands who each appeal Lord Tully’s decision on the latest skirmishes between them…”

Maekar muttered something about the rivers overflowing and drowning the riverlands lords but as Aelinor rubbed her tired eyes, she thought they would not be this lucky. Her heart kept beating fast because she did not know what would happen now.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” he said all of a sudden. “And I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Aelinor said softly.

He nodded and the relief on his face was painful to watch. She returned to her papers, giving him time to adapt to the reality of this chamber, this lamp, this woman who was not one of his choosing but the one he now had anyway. He surely felt the same if he had chosen her instead of the solitude of night and guilt. She wanted to ask him what she could do for him, where had he been all day but it was better not to. When she finally rose and removed the robe she wore over her nightgown, he immediately lay down next to her and drew her close. For the first time, his skin felt as cold as it looked.

“I’m sorry.” The words surprised her even more than him. “When you left that night, I regretted what I said… and felt. I should not condemn another woman for something that she had no control over but I did it. I think…” She paused and considered her next words but the truth was obvious to her. There was no other explanation. “I think I merely envied her because even a woman like this could have what she had while I could not.”

He squeezed her hand as if this much was clear – and to him, it was. He was no stranger to envy and jealousy himself. “It was never her that repulsed you,” he said.

“No, it wasn’t.”

After a while, he warned, “Tomorrow, I may be unable to rise. Don’t be afraid. It will pass. It isn’t an ailment. Just this weight crushing me under. Exhaustion and lack of will. In a few days, it’ll be over. Just don’t let anyone in and don’t tell anyone about it.”

In the darkness, there was no need to glance at him questioningly, so she asked, “How often does it happen if you know all about it?”

“A few times a year. Or once in a few years,” he replied immediately. “I’ve been this way since I was a child. There is nothing to worry about, Aelinor, but I’d rather not let the vultures know about this.”

 _And no one else either, clearly,_ she thought because she had been a member of the family for over thirty years now and this was the first time she heard about this. How had he succeeded to hide it for years? Since his childhood?

 It didn’t matter now. “They won’t,” she promised and she indeed helped him remain unseen by anyone each time it happened, overtaking many of his own duties at the time and even gathering enough confidence to leave others to the Hand without being on the alert that he would find a way to displace her somehow, shove her back into the horrifying confinement that her first queenship had been. If he tried, Maekar could always revert this and he would.

Restore her.

“You aren’t what I expected,” Aegon’s Betha told her once as they sat together with some embroidery in their hands and forgetting it in their laps as they discussed a possible expedition to Sothyros. “When I first met you…” Her voice trailed off and she blushed. “I only meant…” she started and Aelinor’s smile escaped.

“You’re a terrible diplomat, Betha,” she said. “I know exactly what you meant. And let me tell you, you aren’t what I expected either.”

She had always liked Aegon and used to disapprove of his union with Bloodraven’s niece. Not anymore. Betha was no diplomat but she was sharp, she was loyal, and she had given the Red Keep the children that it had been lacking ever since Aegon himself and his siblings had grown up. Maekar had a particular weakness for Duncan, this little Baelor lookalike, but Aelinor was always ready to remind him that favour and care should be equally distributed – he, of all people, should know this but somehow, he did not.

The thumping of a heavy chest being dropped on the wooden floor in the hallway made them both jump in their chairs. “I hope there wasn’t anything breakable in there,” Betha said, her hand on her chest. “I heard you were leaving tonight?”

“Yes,” Aelinor said. She was going to use the tide and she hoped the journey to Dragonstone would be very short indeed. Born at the coast of the Narrow Sea, she was no stranger to long sea journeys but right now, she was in a hurry to arrive where she was headed. She trusted Daeron and Kiera’s abilities to care for their daughter in her new circumstances not one bit…

“Perhaps the reports were too premature,” Betha suggested hopefully. “They were sent too soon after Vaella’s fever broke. Perhaps over time, she will recover.”

Aelinor gave her a long look. Kind heart was a good thing but there ought to be some limit. “How many people do you know of who recovered after such a fever wiped their brains away?”

Betha looked down at her lap, looking surprised to see her embroidery. Aelinor could relate. The reminder that even the Targaryens were not invincible for such ailments must be haunting to a mother of three, especially when one was as sickly as Jaehaerys. Fevers destroyed healthy children like Vaella; why not Betha’s own children? Why…

Sometimes, Aelinor felt some bitter relief that the Mother had never answered her prayers.

Dragonstone already had the atmosphere of a tomb. Daeron had not even bothered to restrain his drinking sufficiently enough to greet her. Kiera had left the household take care of itself as she barely left her chambers, and when she did, she only did it to go to her husband’s bedchamber at night, her determination to give him a son that had faded somewhat when Vaella’s bright mind had manifested itself strengthening once again when the girl lost this. Poor Kiera, her story written with the darkest ink imaginable! Never good enough for Westeros, ever since the twins died in her womb. Who had to share the husband she had become attached to with all the whores around… and the memory of a woman had been no whore and to the best of Aelinor’s knowledge, had never even bedded him. Daeron and Kiera’s life would have probably been better if Aurelia Dayne had! After her horrific death, in the same manner as his own mother’s, Daeron had been reported to never let himself stay without a bottle that was even half-empty. Now, it was even worse, people said. Aelinor could not verify this because he did not bother to show up.

Kiera showed Aelinor to Vaella’s chambers and made her excuses immediately. Retreated. Ran away. Aelinor felt great sympathy, she truly did, but she could not have some very uncharitable thoughts right now.

“Do you remember who I am, Vaella?” she asked, coming near the girl’s chair.

“Y-y-yes.”

The answer was hoarse and took forever to come. Aelinor had enough time to have a good look at the girl and the pain wrung her heart. Outwardly, Vaella was still a perfect blend of her grandmother Dyanna’s finely chiseled nose and jaw and her mother’s colouring, wide cheekbones, and onetime dimples, but the light behind her violet eyes was now replaced by fear and confusion.

“Queen.”

The word was muffled and also articulated for over ten beats of Aelinor’s heart. She forced out a smile. “That’s right. I’m the Queen. I came to visit you because both your grandfather and I were so happy that you’re healthy now.”

She did not have much experience with children and what she did have was limited to those whose brains corresponded to their years. A little desperate, she realized that her efforts were all wrong. If anything, the confusion in Vaella’s eyes only grew. Would she ever understand what had happened to her? What would keep happening? Aelinor almost hoped that she would not. She likely would be only able to perceive her own suffering – very physical suffering. Because together with her brain, she had lost her ease of movements. She was all jerks and aborted attempts to walk and seize things normally.

Just a few days later, the young maester that Aelinor had brought with him – a new addition fresh from the Citadel who showed great promise with treating ill children – determined the nature of the disease, leaving Aelinor shell-shocked.

“There’s nothing wrong with her brains,” he said. “She’s fully cognizant of everything around her. She can even read, as far as I can determine. It’s just that the fever affected her entire ability to control her body. That’s why she can’t speak as she used to. She literally has trouble forming the words in her throat. They’re prisoners of her muscles, just like everything else about her is.”

Aelinor stared at him with such horror that he actually made a step back as the monstrosity of it sank into her: Vaella, with intact mind, was a prisoner of her own flesh. She likely understood every word that was being said about her _around_ her.  She supposedly could realize that her parents could not bear the sight of her now. She might still be unaware of why all this was happening but she knew that it _was_ happening. Aelinor almost wished that her young protégée was wrong.

He was not.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is nearing its end. Thanks to all my commenters for staying with me this far!

Kiera refused to accept the truth and Daeron started drinking it away even before Aelinor had finished. She had only seen his face like this more than twenty years ago, when his mother’s agony had started. Agony of his own. Aemon was shocked and mortified that he had made such a mistake but Aelinor was not surprised at all. “You can’t be objective with Vaella,” she reassured him. “You love her too much and the realization that she understands everything is too terrible. It doesn’t reflect on your abilities at all.”

Even as she said it, she realized that she was focusing on Aemon to avoid focusing on Vaella because if she did, she would start screaming.

But someone had to focus on the child and it had to be Aelinor. There was no one else both willing and able to. She needed to get Vaella away from her home where everyone stared at her with horror and pity. Where her own parents were too anguished to even give her a proper look, let alone suffer her awkward attempts at communication with the patience they now required. And when neither Kiera nor Daeron tried to argue with her about it, she knew she had made the right choice.

“She’ll be better off under your care,” Daeron said, sounding almost sober, “given that we can’t provide her with any. She’ll be better off with my lord father than me.” He shuddered. “How low I have fallen,” he went on in an undertone. “Once, I would have laughed at anyone telling me such a thing.”

His eyes were those of a dead man already but when he came to see them off, he was completely sober and as pale as the Stranger. At the very last moment before Aelinor took Vaella’s hand to lead her to the waiting boat, the girl tried to reach for her father but the movement was as slow as the fear that had suddenly leapt to the surface of her mind but took forever to register on her face. Daeron looked away, grinding his teeth. For the first time, Aelinor realized that he did resemble Maekar, and a lot. Not in colouring but in facial lines, and now something about the expression. The expression was the one that masked it – Maekar’s energy and will and Daeron’s lack of any. “It’s for your own good, child,” he said and Vaella’s shoulders slumped and she let Aelinor lead her under the eyes of hundreds who had come to say one last goodbye to the bright light that Vaella had used to be, as if she were already dead and lost to them. Aelinor felt as if the entire Dragonstone had come – everyone but Kiera who was weeping in her pillows. But Aelinor could not summon too much sympathy in her heart. Not now. Later, when Kiera would be mourning the daughter she had had, Aelinor would be dealing with Maekar and she had all the reasons in the world to believe that the dealings would not be nice, for she knew something that he was careful to hide from the world, something that would never go down in the scrolls: after his experiences with the three most important women in his life before Aelinor, he had developed aversion, panic, and sheer intolerance at every complaint more serious than a headache. And what Aelinor intended to bring into their life was way worse than a headache.

She was jotting down a list of requirements for the septas that she would entrust Vaella to – a chief one among them was that they should not treat her as simple and wait for her answers and reactions as long as they needed to – and Vaella herself was engrossed in a book, which both gladdened and saddened Aelinor – when the storm crossed the corridors, swept through the halls and threw the doors of her chambers wide open. A human storm in the form of Maekar Targaryen, the First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and whatever else he was, as well as her lord and husband. Aelinor realized that in all their years together, she had never thought to ask him what he thought about a man’s right to discipline his wife with his fists. For all Dyanna’s provocations, Aelinor could not remember her sporting bruises – but then, Dyanna’s transgressions had just annoyed, angered, or even enraged Maekar. She had never touched this forever festering, open wound that were ailments – mainly because when she had been alive, it had not been a wound.

“Do you know what you did, Aelinor?”

“Yes.”

“No, you don’t!” His violet eyes were tearing her apart with fury that she had not seen directed at her since that unfortunate conversation about Saryl Lothston. “If you did, you would have never dragged her all this way here – and for what? Why didn’t you leave her where she would feel better – at her home?”

“Because she didn’t feel better there!” Aelinor cut in before he had the chance to work himself into further fury. “She isn’t feeble-minded, Maekar , I know my maester has already told you this.”

“Yes.” Maekar’s tone conveyed what he thought exactly about this assertion. His eyes went to Vaella whose mouth was trembling and the sounds coming out of her mouth were guttural, inarticulate, and fighting each other. “Just look at her! Is this what you call not feeble-minded?”

During the two months of her absence, he had aged considerably, lost a good deal of weight and a good deal of inner peace, for all this peace was worth.  Aelinor knew that he had waited for her return with eagerness and rising despair, for she was the only person he felt truly close to. And upon her return, she had brought no peace but what he feared and recoiled from most. An enemy that he could not crush with his mace, an ailment worming its way into the very midst of his life, an agony that he could do so little to relieve. Before her eyes, his helplessness turned into anger that would lash over her and Vaella any moment now. Yes, Vaella too, because once released, it would not spare anyone, even the most innocent of all involved.

Tears were now hanging from the corners of the girl’s eyes and Maekar looked away, guilt and fury fighting on his face. Aelinor grasped the moment before it passed. “Don’t cry, Vaella. His Grace is angry with me, not you.”

“I’m not angry with you, Aelinor.” He barely kept his voice into a semblance of control.

“You were just about to shout at me.”

“I was not!” he snapped.

“What a relief!” Aelinor snapped back and now, Vaella’s lips started curling into something that was… Her eyes..

“Are you laughing, child?” Maekar asked, incredulous, and when the expression faded as slowly as it had appeared, he shook his head. “I did not sound very convincing, I’ll give you this. So, you truly understand?”

She nodded.

“All of it?”

“Y-yes.”

“The worst of it?”

“Yessss.”

Sometimes, there was the opposite problem to slow speech as well. Sometimes, the last syllables would not stop rolling from her tongue. Tears came to her eyes, tears of helplessness and mortification. Maekar held out a hand and touched her hair – sure, slowly, with great effort, reluctantly but he did it nonetheless. “We’ll summon the greatest maesters in the realm,” he promised. “You _will_ get better.”

Something in the desperate energy of his words made Aelinor wonder if he was doing it for his granddaughter’s sake alone, or because he had seen her as a queen-in-waiting one day. But even when Vaella was taken to her new chambers, in her new bed and Aelinor finally snuggled in her own bed, next to her husband, she did not ask the question. She was simply glad to be back to him, with all his stormy temper, all his unjust rages, all things royal that so rarely left his mind entirely. For all his flaws, he was not weak and running from the truth forever. Now, she finally had the soothing reassurance that she was not the only one everything depended on. That someone would take care of her as she had taken care of everything else. It was so strange that a man so different from her, the one whom she had been connected with through bitterness and striving to get notice, could be the answer of desires that she had buried long ago. Her cure for loneliness. _We_ , he had said and Aelinor had no doubt that she was included. She rested her head on his arm, pressed her face against his shoulder and wept with the tension and exhaustion of everything that had taken place since the day  she had landed on Dragonstone. Finally, she could allow herself the comfort of some good weeping. 

* * *

The more bitter winter grew, the more Aelinor’s duties changed. A coincidence? She did not know and she no longer cared. When she came to realize that she had fallen too hard on the part expected of queen – intercession, - it did not even occur to her to think of this as a plot of anyone – say, the Hand of the King – to curb her direct influence in politics. Instead, she realized with a startle and despair how deeply down Maekar had gone. He had always been hot-tempered and more inclined to condemn than give way to reasonable doubt but since Baelor’s death, these traits of his had become more prominent as his despair  and self-loathing increased. Since she knew him in a way reserved just for her, and perhaps Aemon, she had lost her sharp awareness of how people perceived him and the fact that this perception was not unjustified. Few relied on his mercy and only those who were unflinchingly certain that they would win their case turned to him directly, without turning to Aelinor for intercession first. In a way, she now wielded greater power and influence than even the Good Queen Alysanne but this did not bring her any joy. Not when her king was losing himself in a dark river of guilt, regrets, nightmares, doubts in himself, and the feeling that he had stolen another’s place, a dark river that was only allowed to run in the safety of their own chambers and more often than not, in the nightmares that he could not escape because he could not avoid sleep forever. Not when his daily decisions showed that with the advancing of age and burdens, he was losing so many of the things that had made her like him when they had both been children and hostages, the things that had made her go to him when a marriage of affection was the last thing in her mind.

Words were wind but written words stayed. She had never believed that there would be time when she’d try to erase a good deal of her own existence from the scrolls but that was what she did now. Those who would live later should not know the details of Maekar’s deterioration that had led to this unparalleled influence of hers. She was determined to make this her last contribution to Vaella, to Aegon’s children who made the Red Keep come alive, and finally, to the man who had shared his family with her and given her life its meaning and colour, as grim and faded as her concern now made them.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, you're such a great encouragement.

Vaella’s long, elegant fingers slowly wrapped themselves around the tiny leather ball and squeezed as much as they could. The maester nodded, contented, but in the girl’s eyes, tears welled out and Aelinor looked away to blink her own tears unnoticed. So weak this grasp was, like a kitten trying to play with a ball of wool…

This was not working, they both knew it. All it achieved was making Vaella feel increasingly like the dwarves who were exposed at mummer’s shows to have people laugh and them and reward their deformity with coins, so few of which even went to the dwarves themselves…

This had to stop and Aelinor told this to Maekar that very evening.

“Do you really think so?” he asked and she stared at him, amazed at his ability to delude himself. Had he really thought that after all the maesters that had failed, this one would do the miracle? Yes, of course he had. For all his grim sternness, there was resilience to him, determination that helped him survive and go on. In a way, he had always been the optimist in the royal family. A brooding, severe, unsmiling optimist. But there were things that his will had no control over. “Yes,” she said quietly and saw how his shoulders sagged.

“You think I have been tormenting her, don’t you?”

Over the years, he had lost even the self-protective mechanism of not asking questions with answers that he knew would hurt him. He was destroying himself, not just the safety of Vaella’s sanctuary. She wanted to deny it but if there was something that he had always demanded of everyone – after Ashford, it had become a raging fire swallowing everyone around – it was his need of honest answers. “You won’t be doing it any more,” she said at last.

To her surprise, he rose and came to her chair. His hand slowly went over her hair in a rare display of physical closeness that he so rarely showed out of bed – she had turned out to be right, the only bed he slept in was theirs. “You’re the only good thing that has come to me with this crown,” he said.

She watched him go through the connecting door, then followed. Vaella who was clumsily trying to turn the page of her book looked up, a slow pieces of panic invading her face. But when she saw the Queen, the relief in her bright eyes was instantaneous and profound.

If Maekar had recognized that his granddaughter had started fearing him and saw his Queen as her defender, he did not say anything. He had recognized, Aelinor saw this a moment later, in the way his steps faltered, just for a little. He turned the page for Vaella and stroked her hair, much like he had done with Aelinor. “There won’t be any attempts to recover you anymore,” he said. “Just to help make you as comfortable as possible under these circumstances.”

The book fell on the floor. Vaella did not even look at it. Tears swelled in her eyes as Aelinor sat down next to her and hugged her. A soft click made her aware that Maekar had left.

“You’re going to take care of her, aren’t you?” he asked later, when Vaella had been put to bed and Aelinor was climbing into theirs. “There is no one better suited than you.”

“Yes,” she said. It scared her, the way he talked as if he would die before her and she’d be left to take care of Vaella on her own. Daeron and Aerion’s deaths had aged him up but to her, he looked as strong and full of vigour as ever. She did not want to imagine her life without him, without what they had built together, without his warmth in her bed and the life he had let her have. Now, all of Westeros said her name not with pity but awe. Still, she would trade this in a minute, become the powerless queen she had one been, if that only meant that he would live. But there was no use to say so. It would only make him feel uncomfortable and perhaps make the Seven look at her without mercy for her foolish fears. “I will.”

The only good thing that had come to him with this crown… He should have said _the best thing_ but it would be a lie. Aelinor was a little surprised at how this small a word could make such a difference. The best thing would have been nice to hear; the good thing was the truth. It almost made her regret the fact that when Maekar’s reign went down in the scrolls, it would be read by people who would only see the fact that he had not been _nice_.

* * *

 

“You are the best thing that has happened to my father in a very long time,” Daella said. “Before and after.”

The world were so unexpected, such a strange echo of Maekar’s own words from a few days ago that Aelinor startled and stared at the young woman. Daella was such a counterpart to her mother, up to the way her dark hair curled here and there, that it was easy to forget that he was Maekar’s daughter as well – until one heard her talk, and just sometimes at this.

The winter was cutting through the bones even here, in the Red Keep, where the fireplaces made bigger for Mariah Martell’s use, worked from before dawn to after sunrise. The two women were sitting near a window wall overlooking the thick walls of Maegor’s Holdfast and overlooking a garden of statues made huge by the snow and trees that looked like frozen statues. No sun crossed the thick carpet of sad grey clouds, no wind howled to help them shake the snow away, so they just… stood. Aelinor was suddenly reminded of how ugly and piercing spring had turned unexpectedly after Baelor’s death and shivered in superstitious fear. How her goodfather had changed… As if the change in weather had been brought up by the change in the king himself. Was the connection true for Maekar as well? His decline had turned sharper after the long summer had gone away.

“I’m happy to hear this,” she said and smiled at the young woman, determined not to think of such horrors.  “And the same is true for him, you know.”

“As strange as it sounds,” Daella said and laughed, her violet eyes sparkling. At this moment, she looked exactly like her mother would have if she had lived to reach thirty three.

“Very strange,” Aelinor agreed and grinned back. Somehow, Daella managed to bring out the mischievous in her.

“So,” her stepdaughter said, now serious. “Tell me what’s going on. Has everyone gone mad? Did Daenora truly appear at your doorstep to push the babe in your arms and claim that she was leaving? Do you know where she is now?”

Aelinor sipped at her tea. “Yes. Somehow, I turned into a mother of two when I’m a grandmother,” she said but did not laugh. It was not funny at all. She would never forget Vaella’s dejection when her mother left back for Tyrosh without even saying goodbye. At least Maegor would not remember his mother. “I wish I knew where Daenora is,” she said. “But I don’t think she’s going to write for a while.”

“Lady Alys?”

Aelinor shook her head. “You have lost the track of quite the number of things as you were away, Daella,” she replied. “Alys is the last person Daenora would turn to. The very last one. She wed her to Aerion.”

Daella shivered. “I don’t want to imagine what life with him was like,” she said and looked away, memories long gone stirring to life in her eyes – memories of Aerion, memories of her own unfortunate but blissfully short second marriage.

Aelinor gave her a long look. The young woman’s state was obvious, as well as her exhaustion, yet she had not gone to rest but refreshed herself and came to Aelinor’s chambers just two hours after her arrival. “Dorne is a long way from here, Daella,” she said. “And the child is sapping your energy. I can see. Why are you here?”

“Because I’m wondering what’s going on,” Daella replied. “I heard that Father intended to wed my Daenaera to that Bracken boy – and I know things about him. If they’re true, I don’t want to hear of the match.”

The Queen sighed. Daella’s Velaryon daughter, Maekar’s eldest grandchild, might be the heart of their court, but she should have been betrothed long ago. Lord Bracken’s heir looked about as interested in marriage and women as Aerys had been and Aelinor and the Hand of the King had been of the same mind that the match should not take place, albeit for different reasons. Actually, Maekar had given up on the idea long ago but he had not mentioned another match and evaded the matter whenever she asked. She simply did not know what to tell Daella. “I’ll talk to your father,” she promised and wondered if she would be the one doing all the talking.

* * *

 

Alas, it was Alys who she talked first to. Not that she had wished it. But at some point, she’d have to receive her goodsister. And in the day maesters’ pens had first written about her with note and respect, she had sworn that never again would she let anyone push her in the shadows. And doubts and delay were shadows of weakness, just as dark as the cold winds gathering outside and turning the forms of snow into permanent fixtures. “Show her in,” she said and in a few minutes, her goodsister was curtsying in front of her.

Aelinor bade her rise and as Alys accepted the refreshments offered, gave her a long look. She had not seen her in a while and now was shocked by the sudden slumping of her shoulders, the tiredness that she could no longer mask. Aerion’s death had been a blow to her – the death of the ambitions she had nurtured for over twenty years. Her daughter’s disappearance had certainly contributed to this state of hers. But just when she was about to ask if there were any  news from Daenora, Alys spoke and Aelinor was astounded by her own stupidity. She had really thought that Alys had admitted defeat! She couldn’t believe it. If Alys could find her wayward daughter, she would likely drag her back by her hair to make her demands look more substantiated. As it was, Aelinor had little scruples in refusing her goodsister’s plea. “The King wishes to have Maegor raised by me under his own roof,” she said calmly and felt a thin pen cover her name with a little blur of invisibility: she had just retreated a step back in the shadows, hiding behind Maekar’s authority to avoid prolonging the conversation. But as she made the obligatory small talk, she realized the truth about the situation: she was left behind once again as her King, a different one this time, was trying to make his decision and agonizing over it.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve been very unkind to you,” Maekar said two days later, when they retired after the evening feast and the handmaidens took her heavy gown of dark velvet off.

She was in no mood to be tactful. “Yes, you have.”

He winced. “I suppose I deserve it.”

“Yes, you do.”

Now, he laughed. “The queen of all tigers, that’s what you are, Aelinor Targaryen, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. But I had my reasons. I wanted to enable you to make the argument that you were completely unaware when the momentcame.”

She liked this not. “The moment?” she asked and turned her head away just enough to avoid his attempt to start combing her hair in a long ritual that allowed both of them to shake the concerns of the day off. “Unaware? Yes, you certainly achieved this.”

The candlelight cut all his flaws in stark relief – the old marks on his face, the skin sagging with age, the lost lustre of a hair that had lost its softness of silver. This time, the sight of his aging and disappointments did not touch her. She waited for his answer.

“I need all the help that I can get,” Maekar finally said. “What I want to do will cause turmoil and I want everyone to think that you had no part in this. Even my allies.”

Despite herself, she felt a touch of sadness. He did not fully trust anyone… except for her, perhaps. In some strange way, he wanted to protect her. She just didn’t know what from.

Everyone was busy trying to guess how Maekar’s succession would go. With his circumspection, she could only suppose that he intended to crush the hopes of those hoping to rule as regents to a very young King or a lackwit Queen. “You intend to free Aemon from his vows,” she breathed.

He shook his head, smiling. “Not stupid at all, are you,” he said. “But no, Aelinor. Aemon is a product of the Citadel. He thinks that he was shaped to obey and not rule and I agree. I can indulge in this luxury because I have a better option.”

Aelinor pressed her lips together. While she liked and loved Aegon precisely of his inability to say _no_ and disappoint people,  that was not the defining quality she wanted to see in a future King.

Maekar was smiling. “Not Aegon either,” he said, reading her thoughts. “Aerys paved the way for me when he declared Aelora to be his heiress after Aelor’s death.”

“Aerys bent to your and Alys’ wills,” Aelinor said absent-mindedly because her mind was speeding. She stared at him, speechless.

He nodded and his smile grew. “It’s a good thing that you get along with Daella so fine, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s always a good thing to be friend to the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who followed the trials and turbulations of this literally unknown characters with me!
> 
> A long time ago, in the comment section of another story, A Seashell in the Tide, Baelorfan asked why at the ripe old age of fifteen, Daenaera Velaryon, Daella Targaryen's daughter and Maekar's eldest grandchild, did not have a betrothal set for her. I replied that Maekar had his reasons. Well, now these reasons can be disclosed: Maekar intended to seal the alliance that would be most favourable to Daella through Daenaera's marriage. He simply didn't have the time to determine what this alliance would be.

The maesters were already sharpening their pens to note down the first uprising in the Seven Kingdoms since Maekar had assumed the throne. Aelinor would not be surprised if some of them had actually written down the outcome in advance – there could be only one. What had Dyanna used to say about the Ullers from Dorne? Half the Ullers are half mad, and the other half are even worse, or something like this. Aelinor wondered what she would have said about the Peakes. The very idea that they truly believed they could win against the Iron Throne was the mark of a family in the grip of madness.

There was no real need for Maekar to go and suppress the rebellion in person – other than the one searing his mind and wringing his heart. As the clamour of armours and swords traveled all the way to the throne room, Aelinor’s eyes went to the door that the only one not readied for leaving yet strode through.

“Are you still angry?” Maekar asked when he reached her at the foot of the dais.

She shook her head. “No,” she replied quietly but her voice echoed in the huge empty hall where just the two of them and the Kingsguard stood. “And I never was.”

He hesitated, took her hand, and held it. For the first time in years, his fingers were as warm as the rare occasions when he had touched her hand in their youth, as warm as they had been in their wedding night. “But you’re sad. And worried. I’m sorry, Aelinor. It’s just something that I need to do.”

“I know,” she replied. For so long, he had been feeling as like he was not living at all, the punishment of the crown becoming more torturous with every year. Winter had come so unexpectedly that it had raced the maesters’ announcement of its arrival shoulder to shoulder. No one had been prepared and it had been – still was – terrible. The tragedies in their own family… And always, always the feeling that he was not doing enough, that he could not do enough because how could one do enough in their punishment? That was the curse of those full of life and vigour – that they demanded of themselves to be always able to make things right, even those that did not depend on them.

Battles and fighting were one of the things where Maekar was truly unsurpassed. Where he could change things his way. Of course he needed to do it. She smiled.

“Perhaps I’m worried about myself as much as you,” she said. “It doesn’t sound pretty but that’s the truth. I don’t want to live the life I was destined for after Aerys’ death.”

There was a spark in his eye that in another man would equal laughing aloud. “Yes, it would be hard to make Daella the same proposal that you made me,” he agreed. “And forgive me for saying so, but in a fight between you and Alor, I don’t see you winning. He’s better with sword.”

At first, Aelinor did not even understand what he was implying… no, saying outright. Then, she blushed. With this Targaryen look of his, it was easy to forget that he had been born to a Dornish mother. He had been wed to a Dornish wife.

Maekar smiled at her blush, pleased, and then turned serious. “It won’t be the same,” he said. “I won’t let this happen.”

“My best bet is not finding out,” she replied and repeated this in her mind as a prayer when she left with him to see the host off.

* * *

 At the end, she did find out. In her stupor, she vaguely thought that it was strange how obvious his being dead was – one would have expected the difference to be less prominent, with this fair skin of his. Indeed, its tone was just a tad paler and since the rock had spared his face, to someone else he might have seemed as if he were asleep. But Aelinor noticed the vast difference immediately. He had never slept soundly. Always, always there had been a movement to him even in his deepest sleep. If not nightmares, then a stirring of muscle. A smile had been much rarer but it had happened. This peace akin to death? _Never_ , she thought, fazed, as she walked out of the Great Sept and passed down the path the guards opened for her. A sea of people had filled all the squares, all the streets in her sight. Everyone was silent; wherever Aelinor looked, she saw fear, and the dawning horror of being left at the whims and dubious mercy of the high and mighty. Maekar had not been loved but by the Seven, now he was being mourned! A stern hand meant a hand that held the ambitions and grudges of the lords well away from the smallfolk and while Maekar had never looked the part men and women wanted to see in a king – not in demeanor, not in expression and certainly not in reputation – people had felt secure under him. Now, the civil war was lying in wait – actually boldly raising its ugly head. Or at least this was what people thought.

Aelinor realized that she had been as ignorant and deluded as every fishwife when, two days after the funeral, she heard of a Great Council that would take place soon.

“ _What?_ ” she asked, incredulous. “A what?”

Aemon looked down, avoiding her eye. “This is the best way to prevent a second Dance of the Dragons, Your Grace. With no clear heir pointed out…”

“Your father _had_ a chosen heir,” Aelinor snapped, his clear discomfort enraging her. “And you know it!”

“Not so loud!” Aemon hissed, glancing around to make sure that there was no one around who could overhear them. “So, he told you,” he finally said, calmer now. “I always found it strange that he would keep such a secret from you. He told you everything.”

Aelinor did not deign this with an answer. “Your father wanted Daella to succeed him… and he thought you and Aegon were going to support this.”

“We were,” Aemon said. “Aegon was going to publicly renounce his rights as Daella and Alor grew in prominence. But now… you know what people are going to think of her, my lady. She’s wed to a Dornishman and…”

“And her first two children, the one who would have come after her, are half-Velaryons, as you know,” Aelinor said angrily. “What does it matter whom she is wed to? The Targaryen kings had been taking Velaryon brides for ages.”

“This is so,” Aemon sighed. “And both Aegon and I dislike the situation. But the truth is, Father had no time to establish Daella’s position. There is no written word of a definite intention. He hadn’t even talked to her yet.”

“I know,” Aelinor said. “But this was his wish. He didn’t write his intentions down because he _trusted_ the two of you – and yes, his Hand.”

Aemon would still not look at her. They both talked instinctively softly because even in the Queen Dowager’s chambers, in a castle shrouded in mourning, every word echoed louder than usual.

“I want to think this so,” he said, still staring at the black drapes covering every bit of colour in Aelinor’s solar. “But the fact is, there’s nothing we can show to prove his wishes. How much time do you think it’s going to take some of the lords to declare this a conspiracy on our part? Who’s going to desire to be ruled by a woman wed to a Dornishman just because we say Father said so? In the immediate aftermath of an uprising? With the Blackfyres rising to might again in Essos? Do you think Lady Alys is just going to sit down and accept this?”

Aelinor didn’t reply. He was right, she knew he was. Personally, she did not care at all about Alys’ personal wishes but one embittered woman could easily recognize another. And Alys was in such accord with her nephew that her wishes were the wishes of the Vale.

 _At least the Tyroshi will be too busy with the quarrels between the Blackfyres and Kiera’s family over our succession to make trouble in Vaella’s name,_ Aelinor thought but this was no great consolation.

“I believe we can still pull it out,” she said. “If we all swear this was Maekar’s intention…”

Aemon gave her a level look. “I believe we _may_ pull it out,” he said. “We may fail, you know. You weren’t at the battlefield, my lady, but I was. It’s going to be unconscionable of us to take the risk of upsetting the peaceful decision-making of all the great lords in the realm to try and enforce Father’s wish when we have no proof it was ever his wish. I am not ready to plunge this realm into a new river of blood. the best thing we can all do is support Aegon’s bid, despite his own lack of wish.”

“Oh, I’m so sympathetic to his plea,” Aelinor snapped, although she knew it was true. Had Maekar lived, Aegon would have supported his sister, and Aemon would have as well. As it was, there was no firm evidence of Maekar’s intentions – perhaps a letter to the Citadel with veiled questions, or the last raven that he had sent her, Aelinor. But this letter was not clear either. Who would believe them? Who would want to believe? Too few, at any case. And yet everything in Aelinor rebelled, screamed that it was not right.

“We can always step back later, if we see that the situation is taking a dangerous turn,” she said. “This was your father’s decision, Aemon, and it was a well-reasoned one.”

Now, he looked her in the eye. “The situation has already taken a dangerous turn,” he said. “Last night, I was approached by certain lords who offered to act for my release of my vows. The separation of interests, each achievable only through division in our House, has already started.”

She only gave a low gasp.

“Of course, I refused,” Aemon went on. “I am not fit to rule, as I think you agree. But Daella won’t be allowed to rule. A reign of hers will be forever marred by contradictions and attempts to change things, like my grandfather’s reign forty years ago. We won’t have this. We can’t have you spreading tales, no matter how true they are.”

“How are you going to stop me?” Aelinor asked and when he did not reply, she realized with cruel preciseness just how true her last words to Maekar had turned out. She would find herself isolated more badly than she would have at Aerys’ death, and at the hands of those Maekar had trusted most.

The silence stretched until the low buzz of Maegor’s Holdfast around them indicated that the servants were closing windows and lighting more fireplaces, preparing the castle within a castle for the night. In the last weeks, Aelinor had barely caught any sleep at all, hollow and dead inside, and yet the tears would only come when she would manage to go to fitful sleep, cold and unrelieved by the warmth of a body next to her; when she woke up at night, her face was always wet with tears and in the morning, her eyes were swollen, yet she could not remember having wept.

“Don’t tell Daella,” Aemon finally said. “I know she never wanted to be Queen and I believe she will understand but the bitterness will be there.”

“Yes, for certain!” Aelinor agreed. “Why, even I feel bitterness and I’m not the one cheated out of a throne.”

But this was the last arrow in a battle that she had already lost. With Maekar’s death, she was again no one, a queen in name and just this. Nothing depended on her, except for hurting Daella. Or… not hurting her.

The scrawl of an invisible ink once again took over her life in the years she spent at Summerhall – a castle that had been granted to Maekar unconditionally, so he was not bound by any rules of succession and could leave it to whomever he wished. It turned out that he had chosen her. A castle of her own, additional means that were more than generous, and being the sole guardian of Vaella and little Maegor – yes, Aelinor did find some measure of comfort in knowing that her abilities and devotion had been appreciated after all.

* * *

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to everyone who stayed with me till the end. Goodbye, Aelinor, I'm going to miss you.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was the result of a brief visit to "my" forgotten old/new Targaryens. I don't know if I'd be able to update as planned but if not, Merry Christmas to everyone!


End file.
